


One Another

by Dead_Of_Winter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Demonstuck, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pepsicola, Reverse Demonstuck, ah man i can't believe im doing this, i think im good so lets roll, is that enough tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dead_Of_Winter/pseuds/Dead_Of_Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age 13, John and Dave's old lives were destroyed, in an explosion that left them reconsidering everything they'd learned about the world. Meeting up in an attempt to hunt down the being that annihilated their homes and families, they begin tracking down monsters wherever they can find them, and dive straight into the dangerous and terrifying world of creatures better left unmentioned. But despite all of this, or perhaps because of this, both are changed in a way that doesn't leave physical scars- they find that when it seems like they're fighting the world, sometimes all you need is someone to love you to keep you sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here goes, I guess. Basically I wanted hot demons, and hot monster hunters, and cool road trip shit, so that's what I did. I'm new at this. But I will actually make a decent attempt to write this thing, so don't worry.

“Get off my back, you dipshit.” Dave almost laughed as he bent forward from the weight of John, who had just made a flying leap onto him and was now whooping ecstatically as he waved around his blood-stained sledgehammer. He was also causing Dave to wheeze slightly louder than your average 30-year-old vacuum- John was no gangly beanpole, unlike Dave.

“But I got him! I mean, fuck, I nailed ‘em right in the head. That was my best kill, easily!” John was beaming as he slid off of Dave’s back, glowing with pride at the ebony black werewolf that he’d made into a bloody corpse on the floor. Its long matted fur hung limply off its bony frame and its light-colored ears were now stained a gory red. “One blow, just like that.”

“Yeah, but it was already pretty worse for wear, dude.”

“Shut up, Dave. I’m definitely getting better at this.”

Dave rolled his eyes from behind his shades, nudging the fallen monster with his toe. It was definitely toast. John had bashed its skull in with so much force that liquified brains were nearly leaking out of the crater of bone he’d made. It was… very gory, Dave knew, but it kinda didn’t affect him much anymore. Both he and John had seen enough of this kind of carnage that they no longer felt that they were going to lose their breakfast over making a kill, which was fortunate, considering how much food they’d upchucked during the start of their monster-hunting career. The amount of vomit they’d heaved into uncountable paper bags would have made any decent alcoholic feel outclassed.

Actually, scratch that earlier bit. This wasn’t a career; it was a temporary mission, something they had to do so they could leave all this horror-movie shit behind someday. It was for closure. Like some kind of soap opera relationship that had gone south when the crazy ex started to attack the happy couple with a chainsaw. A _demonic_ chainsaw.

Speaking of happy couples…

“Dude, help me with some of this shit, okay?” John was hauling around boxes of the werewolf’s possessions, stuff the creature had kept in its lair for when it was chillin’ in human form. He looked at little too adorable for a guy who’d just pulled a Thunder God right into someone’s skull. Although, swinging that hammer around all the time had certainly given him some deity-worthy arm muscles. 

“Ground Control to Major Dave.”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your jigglin’ nuts, I’m coming.” John wasn’t actually aware that Dave had the inklings of a romantic attachment to him. As far as he was concerned, they were just best bros who had each other’s backs, through everything the world could throw at them. 

Once the boxes of food and other supplies had been dragged outside (to be sifted through for anything they might need) and John had gone off to get the truck from down the road, Dave took the liberty of hacking into the chunky old desktop computer that had been set up in a corner of the tiny ranch house, getting past the password screen using a disc from an ally named Roxy LaLonde. The 24-year-old cat lover and her 17-year-old “daughter” Rose, whom she had taken in after a traumatizing event involving some kind of sea monster, were an independent hunting duo much like John and himself. They weren’t the kind of people who made you think of “shitfucking lethal monster killers” upon first impression, but you would soon learn they were exactly that. Not to mention that they were both intellectual prodigies. The LaLondes were incredibly useful allies, and pretty nice people during their downtime, but they definitely fell right into the category of “do not fuck with under any circumstances”.

The old computer finished booting up and an ancient-looking Windows desktop appeared onscreen. What the fuck was this, Vista? No, it was even older than that- jesus, this was the kind of crap you’d see in a museum. But a quick glance through the files revealed that the operating system wasn’t the only thing weird. There was barely anything in there- a few text files and shit but not much else. That was odd. Even a werewolf with a fossil of a computer should have more personal data than this- a journal, pages of demented ramblings, an entire folder full of pictures of Hugh Jackman’s sweet ass, _something_.

Dave sighed and just copied what was there onto a flashdrive he plugged in. Whatever. Maybe that furry hermit had copied some files onto a USB and thrown it into the storage boxes. If they found something like that, they’d send the data to Jade, who specialized in the canine shits. But they could probably leave now, seeing as there wasn’t much else in this tiny place. He stepped around the corpse and shoved open the front door.

Sure enough, John had already come back with the truck. “Anything good on the computer?” he yelled from behind the stack of boxes he was hauling toward the flatbed. 

“Doesn’t look like it. Shit’s desolate as the far side of Pluto. If there’s any more data, it’ll be in those boxes somewhere.”

They finished loading up the truck, and sweating from the weight they’d just carried, John and Dave climbed into the front seats. For a moment, the cramped space was filled only with the sounds of their panting breaths and (probably) the sound of sweat glands screaming under the pressure of your average fire hose. 

“Hey,” John said after he’d caught his breath, “d’you think we should move the body or something?”

“Wh- oh. Nah, fuck it. I doubt anyone’s gonna come by this dump for like, five centuries. And if someone does find it, everyone’ll think it’s faked or something. Nobody’s gonna be stupid enough to immediately start believing in werewolves, it’s too Twilight. They’ll make up their own explanation.” Dave was about to go on and make some smartass comment about Taylor Lautner when he was momentarily distracted by the fact that John was running his fingers through his slightly damp black hair, making it look even more wild and windblown than usual. With some effort he pulled himself together. “You ready to blow this pop stand?” 

John grinned, turning the ignition key and starting the engine. He always drove, because he insisted that it wasn’t safe for Dave to drive with shades. “I’ve got both hands on the wheel,” he announced. “Let’s roll out, dude!”

 

The sun had started dipping towards the horizon by the time they’d gotten out of Podunk, Nowhere and back onto a recognizably paved road. By then, Dave had started to doze off slightly, his head bobbing forward every now and then as his eyes drifted shut behind his shades. Hunting was tiring work. The faint music that played softly from the radio didn’t help either- he felt like he was back in his old apartment, going to bed with a dozen carefully arranged playlists thumping through his headphones. Although, he did have to admit that his remixes had been a bit different than what he was listening to now. It was some kind of vaguely hipster shit that either made you want to slick your hair back and jam or cry alone with some Ben and Jerry’s.

The chorus was playing for the third time when he felt John nudge him with his elbow.

“Hey Dave?” he whispered. “ I’m gonna stop at the nearest motel, see if we can book a night. That good with you?”

“S’kay,” he mumbled. “You might hafta carry me in, though.” 

“Psh. You wish, sleepyhead. I’ll wake you up when we get there. And there’s a blanket shoved behind your seat, by the way, you left it there last time.”

“Oh.” Fumbling around for a second, Dave grabbed ahold of one corner of fabric and yanked the blanket over himself. “’Night.” Thanks to his drowsy stupor, he’d actually only managed to cover half of his body, and probably looked like a total dumbass who couldn’t even haul a lousy picnic mat over himself without total coordination failure. But he was too tired to try again.

You know when you’re not quite asleep, kinda teetering on the edge of consciousness a bit, and you have the strangest dreams that end with you shouting something and waking yourself up? Maybe that was just him, actually, but Dave was having one of those. He didn’t like them much, because he always seemed to die at the end, which probably had some serious psychological meaning or whatever. But Dave didn’t have the time or luxury of worrying about it, so he didn't. It got pretty annoying, though. 

This time around, he dreamed that he was being chased by some kind of monster, which kept threatening to descend from above and no doubt tear him to pieces should he slow down. He sensed somehow that there was a cliff ahead, and tried to turn away before he came to its edge, but it was useless- the earth fell away under his feet and he tumbled into empty space, accelerating into eternity. But oddly he didn’t feel scared or anything; he just felt kind of… sad. He was alone and falling to his death, but it almost seemed like it didn’t matter if he died. 

And then he remembered John and Roxy and Rose and everyone else and then he was terrified, because he knew that they’d forgotten him.

“Dave.”

He flew up, nearly banging his head on the roof of the truck. “ _Fuck!_ Shit, what is it?”

John frowned slightly. It was suddenly pitch black outside but Dave didn’t feel like he’d actually spent any time asleep. “We’re just at the motel. You okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Which shithole are we at this time?” He straightened his shades, which had slid down his nose a bit.

“Some place called Sun Motel. Can you go check us in? I need to refill the tank.”

Dave nodded. “Yeah, sure man.” There was a gas station next door, which he supposed was convenient, but he had a nagging hunch that the sound of trucks and irate middle-aged parents with a car full of toddlers was going to wake him up at like 3 in the morning. At least he could get dressed early or something.

Grabbing a suitcase and yawning his way into the building, which was painted in a ugly shade of snot-colored lime that seemed to be peeling off the brick in a desperate attempt to flee this utter rat’s nest (he was actually empathizing with paint right now), Dave went up to the front desk and asked the equally exhausted-looking receptionist for a “Double Dreamers” room. It was the cheapest offer that could still reasonably provide a sleeping area for two people- money was tight and sacrifices had to be made. You’d think he’d be overjoyed to share a bed with John, but are you kidding? It was torture. It just reminded him that this whole infatuation was one-sided and would stay that way for the foreseeable future. And it didn’t help that the kid was really cute when he was sleeping.

Dave took the keys and walked down the hall to the appropriate door, pushing it open past rusted hinges upon unlocking it. If you were to take your average 1970’s living room, shove a bed into it with no particular respect for interior design, and let moths and other small creatures make it a home for several years, you would get something like the room Dave was looking at. The carpet was withered, the tables looked like they had been used as battering rams, and the curtains hung limply from their bar like someone had just come and told them that the IRS had determined that they go to jail for tax avoidance. It was a sorry mess, and Dave flopped down on the thin mattress in defeat, but certainly not surprise.

When John knocked on the door a few minutes later, he still hadn’t moved, and it took considerable effort to drag himself up. “Welcome to Casa del Dave,” he said dryly after opening the door. “A quality establishment with the sickest of furnishings and the most wicked air conditioning system this side of the planet. How may I help you this fine day.”

John smiled brightly at Dave- he was tired too, you could see it in his eyes, but he always made an effort to cheer Dave up through osmosis. “I’m here to see the manager. We’ve received reports of illicit furry porn on the premises.”

“Whaaat?” Dave threw his hands up and walked back to the bed. “I would never. _You’re_ the one who’s actually seen that shit.”

“It wasn’t exactly intentional!”

“You still watched a significant amount of it, though. Your innocent young eyes were captivated by the gyrating hairy ass, don’t lie.”

“Ugh.” John came over too, and flopped down next to Dave. “You’re never gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nah.”

“Jeez. You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly awesome, yeah.” He kicked off his shoes and climbed under the thin covers. Remembering at the last second, he took off the sacred shades John had given him and set them gently on the nightstand. “Can you set the alarm? I’m not gonna wake up until the end of the universe if I don’t hit the sack this goddamn instant, pajamas or no.”

“Mhm, gimme a sec.” John fiddled with the clock for a minute before taking his shirt off, because the guy had a tendency to run warm and would wake up sweating in the middle of the night if he didn’t. Dave, on the other hand, got the chills all the time, and actually slept with a shirt on even in the summer. He was one of those people who would probably feel only slightly warm when next to an active volcano. Also, he kinda felt embarrassed about being topless, because next to the well-tanned and muscled John, he looked like a heap of stale marshmallow that had been put through a spaghetti machine. He was, in short, a genuine disgrace to the Texas redneck stereotype.

Dave felt the bed wobble slightly as John wiggled into a snoozing position by his side. He looked over and saw that the blue-eyed idiot was staring at him almost thoughtfully. John had taken his glasses off too, and it really wasn’t fair at all because who the hell looks that good when they’re sleep-deprived? Maybe it was the whole shirtless male model thing he had going on. Oh, hold up, he was talking.

“I mean, I guess I didn’t think things would take this long,” he was saying. “Back when this whole freaky game began, I thought maybe we’d be a lot closer to our goal after a few years. But we’ve hardly gotten anywhere. We’ve defeated plenty of small-time monsters, sure, but we haven’t actually gone up against a demon at all. And the info from werewolves and so on hasn’t given us any clues on what we’re really trying to go up against.”

“I feel you, dude.” Dave closed his crimson eyes, grimacing as memories of when this hunting thing began suddenly flooded into the darkness behind his eyelids. “We’re almost as clueless as we were all those years ago.” The explosion that had annihilated his entire apartment building, the rubble that had barely missed crushing him as he stood just down the street and watched his neighbors get reduced to smudges in an asphalt crater… “gas leak” like _hell_ that was anything less than a bullshit rationalization. Dave was only thirteen, but he knew what he’d seen coming out of the flames, that hunched-looking creature like something out of a horror movie. That day, Dave actually started believing in demons, especially after hearing that the exact same explosion had happened on John’s street. They’d also both seen the demon, despite the fact that they were across the country from each other. After five years of shitty foster homes and saving money from selling drugs (which he wasn’t very proud of, but he didn’t have many options), Dave got some fake ID papers, bought a beat up old Ford, and drove to Massachusetts to finally meet John in person and take him on an extended road trip. They were both determined to fight the creatures that they now knew existed, and to find the reason why destruction had been brought upon them. 

It had been two years since then.

Dave sighed, rubbing his temples and opening his eyes. “Our world really ended that day, didn’t it? And all we know is that we both got those weird packages the day before. They’re both ashes now, though, so who knows what the fuck was in there.”

John pushed the troubled look off his face and grinned. “Yeah. I bet it was explosive condoms or something.”

“Totally. They were _demon_ condoms. And I bet your dad was the one who ordered the ones that came to your place. He made a deal to get some rad baking skills and wanted to seal it by getting turnt the fuck up.”

John’s eyes widened and he laughed into his pillow. A small smile pulled the corner of Dave’s mouth as he watched, and he silently thanked The Big Man (Obama, probably) for making John such a resilient person. He was still able to laugh freely, despite everything that had happened. And he had certainly lost more than Dave. Bro had never really been a superb parental figure, and while Dave had definitely missed him when he’d died that day, John and his dad had been pretty close despite their petty disagreements.

John lifted his head up from the pillow. “So you think your Bro ordered some extra spicy condoms too?”

“He was the kind of guy that would absolutely do that.” Dave suddenly realized that they were joking about the deaths of their guardians. That was a little morbid, but hey, seven years without your innocence and you get used to the idea of being independent.

“Anyway,” he said, turning and hiding his face in his slightly musty pillow (he still felt awkward having John see his bare red eyes), “I’m checking out of this conversation. Imagine that I’m sleeping right now.”

“Okay,” John whispered, and turned off the light.

What a dork.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update is also going to be a little late- I want to post a new chapter at least once a week but im gonna be extremely busy. It won't be too long, though.

The next morning, Dave woke up to the sensation that he was slowly being squeezed to death by a boa constrictor. It was a much better alarm clock than the screaming families he’d expected to hear, but still, what the fuck? He blinked in confusion, trying to clear the clouds from his eyes, and looked down to see that… oh. John was in the process of hugging the very intestines out of his torso, and the damn idiot was still asleep. How do you squeeze someone so hard they feel like they’re going to vomit, and do it while asleep? Dave didn’t even want to think about the state of this kid’s poor teddy bears. Although at this point, _he_ was the teddy bear. Or a body pillow. He could get used to that idea.

Dave was, of course, using the fact that he was being hugged by John to distract himself from the fact that holy shit he was being hugged by John. But he still felt like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson was personally trying to throttle his midsection, so he reluctantly wriggled free. He did it carefully, though. If anybody needed beauty sleep, it was the guy who’d driven almost from dawn to dusk yesterday. So he did his best to wiggle gently until he could move his lower body again. But of course, upon escaping John’s grasp, he immediately slumped down on the floor next to the bed, remembered that ew, gross motel carpet, and proceeded to drape himself over an armchair that looked like it was from the Jurassic period. It took several long minutes after that to haul his sleep-fogged brain out of the metaphorical dumpster and get his cranial gears moving. Memories of the dreams he’d had hours earlier fell away and slowly but surely, he started to feel less like death.

Now that he was awake, though, he might as well get some shit done. He’d surprise John with the magnificent deductions he’d make by studying the data from that werewolf. Dave grabbed his shades, therefore arming himself with Ben Stiller’s ironic goodness, and ventured out of the motel and into the parking lot with his jaw firmly set by grim determination. Everybody out of the god damn way. He had a truck full of werewolf junk, a mouth full of morning breath, and a head full of gay. Gravel crunched under his feet and made him realize that he’d forgotten shoes (oops) but Dave made it to the car trunk and unlocked it with the spare keys he dug out of his pocket. Early morning chill crept under his shirt as the weak light of sunrise fell onto the boxes, and he felt his way through all of the werewolf’s possessions, which were mostly clothes like T-shirts and the occasional skirt. Also, panties. He hoped they were clean. 

It wasn’t until the fourth box that Dave found something substantial- a single USB stick, taped to the inside of a lone and slightly rumpled hat. Just to be safe, he checked through the rest of the junk, but there didn’t seem to be anything else. After locking up the truck and gingerly heading back inside (gravel fucking sticks to the bottom of your feet like some kind of toothy pavement barnacle, seriously), he pulled their crusty secondhand Dell laptop from the suitcase and powered it up. But since it took a few minutes for the hamster-on-a-wheel- powered battery to charge up, and that was definitely how this technology worked, he quickly went to the bathroom and earnestly brushed his teeth, leaving the computer on the end of the bed. By the time he’d gotten back, he was able to log in and access the files.

The first file was not, unfortunately, anything related to Hugh Jackman, but was instead just .txt labeled “READ ME”. Helpful. Dave ignored the rest of the folders, which were labeled alphabetically, and opened the file in Notepad. It appeared to be a letter to the reader, one introducing the contents of the drive. It was very short, only a few lines of text long, but it did say that in the numbered folders was the previous owner’s research on supernatural beings- just what Dave and John had been looking for. If they were lucky, there’d be some information on the demon they were chasing.

Dave scratched his head as he finished reading the short letter, which was surprisingly lighthearted and helpful. Jesus, he always did forget that werewolves could be perfectly nice people when they weren’t snarling beasts. But with all the deaths that they’d caused, and the fact that werewolves were notoriously difficult to contain during the full moon, letting them live hadn’t really been an option. Jade had trusted them to carry out this mission when she’d sent them here, and they weren’t going to let an overgrown rabid Chihuahua run free because of some clichéd sense of mercy. Speaking of Jade… Dave opened up a chat client and sent a quick message: 

TG: john took down the werewolf  
TG: theres some data here ill email you later shits jacked with info it looks like

Jade would see that the next time she logged in, which could be days from now, given how busy she was during the full moon. She liked to take her favorite rifle out on these nights and go hunting for werewolves all by herself, camping in the woods for days like some kind of reality show contestant.

As John snored gently behind him and sunlight continued to creep out from behind the limp curtains, Dave devoted himself to skimming through the files. Most of it was things they already knew about monsters they’d already encountered, except for the last folder, which had all the good shit about demons. He suddenly felt much more awake as he clicked it open.

Behind him, John suddenly stirred, yawning loudly as he slowly flopped around the bed like the unholy offspring of a sloth and a frictionless pool noodle. He did this every morning, like he needed to regain control of his limbs before actually waking up. “Daaaaaaaave…” he mumbled into the sheets, landing facedown with his head next to Dave’s elbow. “What time is it?”

“Time to haul your ass out of bed. Or, if you’re talking Eastern Standard Time, 7:30.”

“That’s too early. I’m gonna go back to sleep now.”

“No, you’re not,” Dave told him, grinning to himself as he anticipated John’s reaction, “because guess who just found a folder full of data on demons?”

“What?” John poked his head up, his hair attempting to flee the atmosphere and making him look like he’d just stepped out of Dragonball Z. “You’re serious?! I need my glasses.” He grabbed them off the bedside table and crammed them on his face. “Show me.” 

Dave clicked his way through a collection of photos, each captioned with notes. “Check it the fuck out. There’s actually a whole hierarchy thing going on, with different power levels and types determining a demon’s standing. There’s everything from fuckin _domestic_ demons that just kind of mooch around temples to ones that can destroy whole cities. And these pictures are pretty goddamn incredible. I mean look at this-“ He pointed to a photo of a snarling humanlike face with pointed teeth and glowing eyes. “This kind can physically move entire mountains and emits huge destructive blasts. I don’t even wanna know how they got this picture, it looks like that thing’s about to go supernova.”

John was absorbing everything that flipped by on the screen, his eyes round from behind his thick lenses. “Holy shit. Is there anything on the demon we saw?”

“I didn’t see anything that was all hunched over like that, and nothing that could trigger simultaneous explosions and appear in multiple locations at once. But there is this thing.” Dave opened up a text file at the very bottom of the list. “It’s the owner’s speculation about some mega sicknasty demon that awoke from some kind of stasis a few years ago. Guess what the date was?”

“April 13th, 2009.”

“You got it, dude. I think we found the guy responsible for your thirteenth birthday present.”

***

_Miles away, somewhere in the northeastern United States_

“Rosie, you gonna help out or what?!” Roxy yelped, quickly firing her rifle at the two approaching vampires. The first creature dodged the blast with superhuman speed, while the other blast grazed the second vampire’s shoulder. It hissed venomously at her, fangs glinting in a way that was really unnecessarily flamboyant, and dove straight for the box that Roxy was crouching behind. She barely managed to leap backwards in time. “Shit like this makes me regret swearin’ off alcohol."

“Well, we certainly don't want you to fall back into old habits. I suppose this is a decent place to stop, anyway,” said Rose, who was very casually sitting at the back of the warehouse with an open book in one hand. It was some trashy romance novel, judging by the Fabio lookalike who was posed across the cover, and she carefully slipped a pink ribbon between two pages before snapping it shut and leaving it on a cleared patch of dusty concrete. “I hope these vampires don’t intend on spewing their rancid internal organs everywhere, as they did last time, or I’ll likely have to purchase a new copy of _Love’s Secret Sniper_.” She drew two dark knitting needles from the elastic waistband of her skirt, ones that shimmered purple-black and had spiky, pommel-like grips on their blunt ends. 

“Look, I’ll buy ya a new copy if I gotta,” Roxy told the younger girl impatiently as she raised her rifle to the vampire in front of her and whacked it soundly over the head. “Just go get him, the speedy one in the back.”

“Very well. I’ll make it quick.” Rose grinned to herself as she moved past the occupied Roxy, staring down her opponent and holding her needles in a practiced grip. “You’re certain that you don’t want to run away?” she called to him. “You saw what unfortunate fate your comrades met with.” She stepped over the corpse of one of the vampires they’d killed earlier, when Roxy had started the attack. Originally, there had been at least 8 individuals in this warehouse, but the advantage of surprise had ended most of their lives quite speedily.

“As if, you bitch,” the vampire snarled past his extended fangs. “I’m not just gonna take your blood, I’m takin’ your life fer killin’ the rest of ‘em. You don’t scare me none.”

“A courageous sentiment, but also a foolish one. I see you’ve made your choice.” Rose stared him down with her viciously confident eyes, practically radiating sheer willpower. “Do your best, then.” She held her arms wide, inviting the attack that came rushing toward her, one meant to lift her head from her shoulders.

The vampire suddenly choked blood, his face mere inches away from Rose’s. It dribbled down his chin and splattered gruesomely on the pavement between them. His arms abruptly lost their ability to function, and they dropped harmlessly to his impaled torso, from which extended the two dark needles. They glowed a strange unearthly black, and from them spread a wave of diseased flesh that darkened and crept its way onto his neck, face, hands.

Rose yanked out her weapons and let the body collapse.

Behind her, Roxy finished off the last vampire with a shot right between the eyes, and her target dropped as well. She stood and straightened the long scarf she always wore, frowning a little at how quickly Rose had dispatched her enemy. “Ya know, I’m not all that sure those magic needles are safe. I don’t trust that old book you got the spell for it from, it was creepy as hell.”

“I assure you, they are having no negative effect on me.” Rose brushed a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear and went to pick up her book. “You worry too much.”

Roxy put her hands on her hips and regarded Rose shrewdly. “Mama LaLonde’s gotta keep an eye on the people she cares for. Now come on, Rosie, we need to clean up this mess.”

“Wha- ew. Can’t we just leave it?”

The 24-year-old hunter pointed sternly at her charge. “Nuh-uh. It’s good for you, manual work. Keeps you down to earth.”

“The psychological effects of manual labor are often more detrimental to a person’s health over time, especially work involving machinery, gore-“

“You don’t do that much cleanup, so chill, girl. Oh, and before you start, I been thinkin of meeting up with the Dynamic Duo in maybe a few days, to compare notes and combine forces for a while. So-“ and here she smirked playfully at Rose- “you can be thinking about seein’ that cute John kid again while you’re haulin’ cadavers. You’re welcome.” Heaving her rifle over one shoulder, Roxy cheerfully sauntered out of the warehouse, either because she actually had to go do something or (probably) just to make a dramatic exit.

Rose sighed and got to work dragging the bodies into the woods behind the building. The supposed benefits of manual labor were actually a humorous replacement for the real reason that corpses couldn’t be left to rot in plain sight, she knew- Roxy, with all her additional years of experience, knew very well that it was safest to tie up all lose ends. She was surprisingly disapproving of John and Dave’s relaxed policy concerning cleanup, as the two had a tendency to kill and hit the gas. Although, Rose reflected, that was only a tiny blemish on Roxy’s otherwise stellar opinion of the boys. In fact, Roxy was attempting to play matchmaker with Rose and John, because she seemed to think that he was her “daughter’s” best chance at a successful relationship. He was kind, tough, of similar age, attractive, and was familiar with the hunting lifestyle. Logically, he was ideal. But Rose just wasn’t drawn to him, and therefore didn’t concern herself with trying to fabricate any romantic impulses. He was, however, a very good friend, and not a person she would want to lose.

And besides, neither of them seemed to be… well, very heterosexual. It couldn’t really work.

The last of the bodies was soon dumped into a pond that sunk deep into the ground amongst the trees, and Rose considered herself done, because the warehouse had a leaky roof and the rainstorm that would arrive in an hour or so would wash the blood away. All in all, she thought, it had been an easy job.

She left the forest under the gaze of the unseen eyes, and walked to join Roxy with more than plain magic in the needles by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MSPA running gags are a treasure
> 
> also just... just picture John with Goku hair. just revel in that imagery a minute. its three am


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know there hasn’t been nearly enough PepsiCola in this yet, but I’m just getting the plot going so don’t worry. I personally prefer fluff and angst to be thrown in with a good plot because it just makes it more fun to read. Trust me, I will give these characters the sweetest sickening marshmallow namby-pamby shit you’ve ever seen, and I will also put them through hell. All in good time.
> 
> Also Roxy obviously has a Boston accent. I don’t know if that’s a popular headcanon or what, but I’m just putting that out there.

_A few weeks later_

“Dave Strider is a boss-ass bitch,” he told his reflection. “Damn fucking right.”

The asphalt sped under the truck tires. John looked at Dave askance. “Um?”

“Dave Strider,” Dave continued, unfazed, “is so cool that he gives Frozone brainfreeze. His raps are so chill that they slow the melting of glaciers, like some kinda rhythmic ice hypnotism.” The rearview mirror did not seem impressed, although it _was_ a stationary object and was inherently incapable of any sort of comprehension. He’d let it slide.

“Seriously, Dave, you’re being weird.”

He held up a single finger to shush John. “Uh-uh. Not now. I’m busy.”

“Talking to yourself?”

“ _Motivation_ , John. It is five o’clock in the goddamn morning and I need to be in a good mood, because that shit coffee they served at the motel is crushing my will to live. That wasn’t just ground beans and water- I was poured a dangerously full cup of liquid existential crisis.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Yes it was.”

John shook his head, but he was no caffeine connoisseur and also happened to know that Dave had mixed up the salt and artificial sweetener packets. He felt no pressing need to tell him this fact. “If you say so. And if self-admiration brings your spirits up, then go ahead and talk to the mirror or whatever, but please don’t flip off another driver to make yourself feel better. There’s still that dent in your door from the last time.”

“I’m telling you, there should be a law against carrying power tools in the front seat of a car. It’s the kind of thing we need overprotective middle class moms to rally about after their PTA meetings.”

“Just be glad he didn’t hit the side mirror you’re so fascinated with.”

“Yeah, fair point. If Rose saw the damage, she’d probably give me another lecture on my poorly vented aggressive tendencies, or whatever fakey-psychiatrist bullshit she likes to spit out.”

John snickered at that. “Remember when we had that one job with them where we exorcised a ghost out of some psychologist’s office? Oh man, she had a field day.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “I can’t wait to see them again.”

“Me too. Weird as they both are.” Also, the Lalondes usually paid for hotel rooms and meals when they teamed up with Dave and John, mostly because they knew that the boys were always short on cash and because they had money to spare. Rose had actually published some really popular book (which was a fucking miracle, considering the sappy shit that girl reads) and Roxy, well, nobody was really sure where her funds came from. She never seemed to hold any sort of job, yet money just kept accumulating in her bank account. She probably sold hacker software or something, he guessed.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the truck suddenly swerved to the left, the side of the road zooming towards the window and making Dave’s stomach feel like it was in fact a guest member on Tokyo Drift. Beside him, John was shaking his fist at the driver who had nearly crashed into them as he tried to cross into their lane, cutting them off with all the customary rudeness and insomnia-induced depravity of anyone behind a steering wheel at 5 am. “Asshole!” Dave’s best friend yelled. He had the look of someone who had just shit his pants and was about to tell someone off for making him do so. “Watch where you’re fucking going!”

“Hypocrite,” Dave coughed with zero subtlety. 

“That was such an unreasonable thing to do, I think I’m going to have an aneurysm.”

“Please don’t, neither of us have insurance. You’d crash the car, and I sure ain’t paying for that shit.”

John just heaved a tired sigh. “How many more hours is it ‘till we reach Nevada?”

“Fourteen or so. But since it’s an unfamiliar place, it might take us a bit of driving around to get to the strike zone.” Dave always liked to use faux-professional terms when discussing missions, and always ended up sounding like a total dumbass with an eternal boner for the entire cast of Mission Impossible. Which was, he’d have to admit, certainly not the most inaccurate assumption one could make. 

“I might actually let you drive at some point,” John muttered reluctantly, “just because I think I might lose focus and fall asleep at the wheel.”

“I keep telling you, I’m always down to take over if you start nodding off. I practically grew up with shades on my face, like some kind of fabulously ironic fungus, you know? I could snipe with these on.” Not that he ever would. Striders were strictly swords only.

As it turned out, Dave really did end up driving part of the way, although he practically had to shove John out of the seat. But one way or another, the truck kept rolling and creaking down mile upon mile of dusty road, past greasy gas stations by the dozen, until it finally slowed into the town of Redpeak. There didn’t seem to be much out of the ordinary here. It was a little dirty, a bit crowded, smelled like summer breezes and cheap food and persistent cigarette smoke and looked to be a thrown-together mess of grime and glitter- which is to say, it was a lot like most places. There were those who shit and those who got shit on, never the same people every time you stopped to consider it. 

It was not long after Dave had come up with that poetic bit of pretentious brain hemorrhaging that an overly colorful casino came into view- their final destination, a 4-floor establishment emblazoned with the obnoxious title of _Pirate Pixie’s Booty Barge Casino_. Nice. It wasn’t quite dark out yet, but people had already started filing into the garish building, which was lit with sickeningly bright neon. You could make out the image of the eponymous Pixie on one brightly colored sign, a hooker-boot-adorned pinup model of a mascot that was posed sexily enough to make the unwary guest think that maybe this was more than just an outlet for your average gambling addiction.

Contradicting to this image, waiting in the parking lot was the most soccer mom-worthy minivan you could ever conceive of. It was big. It was chunky. It was a Dodge Grand Caravan and even had those one of those stick figure family sticker sets on the rear windshield. You could say a lot of things about Roxy Lalonde, but you could never deny that she was a genius when it came to disguising her ride. Any suspicious cop would see that automobile behemoth, maybe pull it to the curb if he was really worried, and find just what he expected- a “37”-year-old mother and her stereotypically bored teenage daughter. Dave had seen the magic at work himself. Roxy did a fine job of pretending to be middle-aged, pulling a worn fleece jacket on and smudging her makeup to make bags under her eyes. A few hairs would often be yanked out of place and her spine would shrink, looking as if it was so desperate to find itself a chiropractor that it was on the verge of either bribery or arming itself and taking a hostage. The cop would ask a few perfunctory questions and Roxy would act out a few lines of clichéd conversation (“Heh heh, I wish I was still young enough to get up to shenanigans like that!” “I know what you mean. Well, you certainly look pretty good for your age, ma’am. Is that your sister in the back?” “Aw, you’re a chivalrous one!”) before winking playfully at the officer despite the fake wedding ring on her finger. They’d then drive off without the slightest air of having an entire arsenal hidden in the cushions of the car seats.

Right now, the duo in question was casually hanging out in the open trunk of the van, legs swinging and hands raised in a wave as they saw the beat-up truck park nearby. It was important to act like they weren’t doing anything wrong here. They were just joining the crowd of guests already at the casino, most of whom were probably convinced they could somehow outfox the con system by coming in a little early. That was utter horseshit, naturally. The only way to beat a cheater was to cheat right back at them. Fight fire with fire and all that jazz. But according to Roxy’s information, this dump had been conning money better than any place with three times the class. They’d even let the customers inspect the gambling equipment, just to prove how innocent they were, and then promptly empty every wallet in the room. Pure chance seemed to work in their favor. Furthermore, there’d been a shit-ton of strange occurrences around here- many of the guests befell deadly accidents soon after returning home, or suddenly found that they’d been audited by the IRS, or had their worst secrets discovered by the people they loved most. You’d think all this unpleasantness would discourage people from coming, but no, humans are fucking idiots, and everyone wanted to try and find out how the casino did what they did.

But no amount of human stupidity or freaky gambling mojo could keep the smile off of John’s goofy mug as he hopped out of the truck and towards the Lalondes. Given how long he’d been in a sitting position, his legs wobbled all over the place like hyperactive jelly. Was there such a thing as hyperactive jelly? Well, there was now. Dave followed him into the lot, but with considerably less flailing.

“Hey, guys!” John gyrated towards the van and managed to land with his arms around Rose. “Rose! Uh, could you pull me up a little?”

She smiled in a way that meant “haha wow John, you’re still such a dork” and set him on his feet. “It seems you made it here alright. I must say, I’ve missed you quite a lot.”

“Really?” John got that adorable puppydog look on his face, and for a second Dave felt a sour pang of jealousy. “I missed you too.” _Ah, goddammit, get this selfish crap out of my head_ , Dave thought. _You see him practically 24/7, so fuckin’ chill, will you?_

His self-deprecation session was rudely interrupted by Roxy, who collided with him from behind (she had snuck out of his sight, somehow) and sent him crashing into Rose and John. “Nice to see ya again, cuties!” Her breath smelled faintly of bubblegum and her scarf faintly of cats. “Bet the trip up here was fun.”

Dave groaned as an answer. “Yeah, it was just great. There’s strips of my leg skin stuck to the carseat from parking my ass on it for so long.”

“Ha! We were only 4 hours away this time,” she said triumphantly, like it was some big personal achievement. “Didn’t even have to stop and use the bathroom.”

“Damn, it’s like you’ve got the unnaturally enlarged bladder of Zeus or something…” The conversation carried on like this for a few minutes as everybody caught up with each other. It had, after all, been months since they’d last met, and they were probably about to head straight into danger so why not chat a minute? But nobody was completely relaxed, even though they’d done all this before. 

It was Roxy who broke the idle gossiping and jumped into the trunk of her van, to better command attention. “Alright kids, I know it’s nice to talk and all, but we should probs start headin’ in. You got your fake ID’s?” Everyone did. She clapped her hands together like one of those really perky kindergarten teachers who haven’t started hating children yet and still find meaning in life. “We’ll split up once we’re inside- John with Rose, and Dave and I by ourselves. If you find anythin’, text everyone else and we’ll meet on the first floor. Also, don’t forget to check in regularly, ‘bout every ten minutes, with an update on your location in case anythin’ happens. The hidden weapons we’ve got may not be able to protect you from, y’know, the element of surprise, so it’s important we keep tabs on each other.”

Dave raised his hand. “’Scuse me miss,” he squeaked, giving his best impression of a snotty little kid, “but why aren’t you and I partnering up?” He already knew that Roxy was trying to get John and Rose together but he figured he’d call her out on it anyway.

Roxy pointed at him sternly. “Because we don’t know whether investigatin’ as a pair or individually will yield better results.” Oh, okay, she actually did have a good reason. “Now shh. It’s time to commence the operation.” She jumped down and landed in a dramatic fighting position. “Team Rocket blast off!” 

“I can’t… oh, forget it.” Rose looked slightly mortified but appeared to shrug it off. “Lead away, Meowth.”

“Fuck no, you’re Meowth. Now come on, we haven’t got all day.” She slammed the trunk shut and started marching toward the front doors, leaving everyone else no choice but to follow.

The inside of the casino was full of strobing lights and hazy air so thick you could practically choke on it. Dim silhouettes walked by with beers and flashing eyes and low necklines, drawn to the slot machines like moths to a flame. The place was also so noisy you could barely hear yourself think over the loud conversations and chirpy sound effects. Maybe someone more experienced wouldn’t be fazed by the multi-sensory stimulus, but to Dave, it was pretty much what the word “drunk” would look like if it was a building. 

“Fun, isn’t it?!” yelled Roxy. “Okay, I got this floor, the rest of you head on up. Be careful!”

She didn’t need to tell them twice. “See you later!” John yelled back, before Rose took him by the arm and they vanished off towards the elevators. 

Dave blew a resigned sigh through his lips as he watched them go, suddenly feeling more than a little unhappy at the idea of scouting around by himself. He felt out of his element in a place like this- he couldn’t really focus, couldn’t see individual people instead of a sea of strange faces. He felt very anonymous and unnoticeable, which for someone like him who relied upon attention, was a difficult place to feel comfortable. Dave was not content as a wallflower, to be sure.

Well, the sooner he found something to report, the sooner they could confront it. So he squared his shoulders and made for the stairs, which were considerably less packed than the elevators, and eventually got to the third floor. It was quieter here, thankfully, and instead of slot machines there were roulette tables scattered like dropped dice across what seemed like a mile of soft carpet the color of spilled wine. It smelled distinctly of cigarette smoke. There was a round just starting at a nearby table, so he joined them.

He started out small, with a few small chips on some choice numbers. No luck. Not surprising at all, really, he only knew the bare bones of roulette, none of the strategies or methods. And he wasn’t exactly devoting his whole attention to the game. The wheel spun under him and he pretended to watch it, but in truth his eyes were moving continuously behind his shades. Dave’s gaze roved across the dimly lit room, searching for anything even slightly out of the ordinary. A glyph scratched on the edge of a table, maybe. Strange smoky imprints left from dark spells were also an obvious one- deals with unholy forces were often the choice tools of the greedy. Even signs of decay could indicate something. But to his eyes, at least, all seemed perfectly normal.

An indeterminate amount of time passed, maybe an hour or so, but it was hard to tell with the lack of clocks. Despite traveling to nearly every table in the room, Dave made far less money than he lost, cash trickling slowly out of his wallet in a reliable stream despite his conservative efforts. Not to mention, he was getting a headache, and almost considered going down to the bar to try and drown the throbbing in his skull. Almost. Dave knew that the mission was too important for that. But he was still about to move on to another part of the casino when the door to the craps room opened, letting chattering noise and a tall figure through.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Those words cut themselves from the curving mouth of the woman who’d just stepped into the gathering around the busiest of the tables, who casually held a lit cigarette between two fingers as she drew the gaze of every guest in the room. She wore boots and a short black dress that looked like something a biker might wear to prom, all folds of stiff fabric and blue edging, and had long chocolate hair that fell past her shoulders. Her striking appearance was only enhanced by the black patch over her left eye. “How’ve the games been going?”

One of the big-shot players closed his gaping mouth and attempted to look less like starstruck fish. His buglike eyes squinted menacingly at her as his face developed the expression of a man trying to make someone shit a lemon. “Terrible,” he growled from this extremely appealing visage, “and you damn well know it.” A few other guests grumbled in agreement. “I haven’t made a single fucking dollar tonight, and I’ve been known to clean up more than a thousand from small-time places like this.”

The woman raised a single ferocious eyebrow, and Dave was envious- that was like, a Vulcan level of ironic sassiness she had going on. He sure couldn’t do that. “’Small time’? You can’t be serious. I might not have a fourteen-story chrome-plated building, but you would hardly see a crowd like this in your average saloon.” So she was the owner of the place, or at least some kind of manager. “And what, you think I’m cheating or something?”

“Yeah, you sure as hell have these tables rigged. I’d bet my last dollar.”

“Weeeeeeeell,” and here she smiled with mischievous glee, “why don’t I take a spin for myself, huh? Let’s do something a bit unorthodox. You said you’d bet your last dollar, so it’s only fair for me to lay some money down too. I’m thinking… Two thousand dollars on any number of your choosing. I win, I take every last crumpled bill out of your wallet. I lose, you take away twice your best winnings. How ‘bout it?” 

By now, people from other tables had gathered to watch, and Dave had taken the opportunity to join them. This was certainly the most exciting thing to happen all evening. The man who’d spoken up was suddenly looking doubtful- the odds were ridiculously in his favor here, how could this woman be serious? There had to be some kind of trap. Suddenly, a triumphant look crossed Big-Shot’s face, like he’d just had the most terrifically devious idea and was disgustingly pleased with himself. “Alright, I’ll do it,” he told her, “but on one condition. I won’t tell you my number until after the spin. I’ll write it down-“ he grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket, “on here, and show it to you when the ball stops. Got it?”

She nodded. “Fair enough.” The croupier got the wheel spinning and sent the ball rolling inside its lip. Big-Shot watched the table carefully and turned his back to write down his number, hunching over to make absolutely certain no one could see what he was writing. Dave was abruptly aware that the room had almost gone completely quiet. When the man turned around again, he looked extremely smug- he’d must have picked a number that had been especially unfortunate all evening. “Done.”

“Alright then! I hope you picked well.” 

Beneath them, the wheel continued to spin, its numbers blurring into a smear of red and white and black. Dozens of necks craned forward to watch, and despite his lanky height, Dave couldn’t see the table. But in the silence of bated breaths he could hear the clicking bounces of the ball, as they slowed and finally came to a dead stop. 

For once second, nobody moved. Then Big-Shot came pushing his way out of the crowd of watchers, his face beet red with anger. And behind him, the woman started to laugh.

“Make sure I get his money, will you?” she told the croupier, before stepping confidently through the gathered customers. “He looked mad enough to run. It was his own fault, though.” She turned back to them and smiled again, with a wolflike edge to her grin. “He should know I never cheat. I’m just lucky.”

As the sound of her muffled footsteps exited the hall, Dave found himself pushing his way forward to the roulette table. He had to see for himself. A one-in-37 chance of winning, and this woman had pulled it off without blinking… there’s gotta be some spooky David Blaine shit going on. But there were no still no symbols scratched in the wood, no metallic scent of magic, nothing.

Only piece of paper and an occupied roulette slot marked with the number eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Unnaturally enlarged bladder of Zeus” because if you’ve got an unnaturally enlarged bladder filled with piss and you also happen to have a dick, waking up in the morning and being Zeus will likely result in several new deities, multiple freaky animal species, and two godly wars. It’s funny because you think it’s about the bladder but really it’s just an indirect reference to the penis. Got ya there.
> 
> Also I have never so much as stood in a casino parking lot so my descriptions were probably wildly inaccurate. I tried. But you can’t really Google “average humidity and carpet color of a casino roulette hall”. What use is technology, im tellin ya.


End file.
